


Pale Gossamer Threads

by nachttour



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Beforus, Forced Pregnancy, Gen, No SGrub Session, Pre-Hivebent, Sadstuck, body-horror, lack of bodily autonomy, minors in sketchy situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachttour/pseuds/nachttour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU/Spec story set pre-Hivebent on Beforus. Focusing on Porrim and her interactions with the Mothergrub and her fellow jade-bloods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pale Gossamer Threads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phenomenon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phenomenon/gifts).



**I. Love Her  
  
** The caves were beautiful in an unconventional fashion. Not utilitarian and functional like what the Drones did. Bio-luminescent fans of fungi assisted by technology created an ambient cool-blue lighting that comfortably allowed movement without bothering sensitive eyes. The paths leading down to the chilled spaces the Mother Grub inhabited were kept fastidiously clean. Those that did not directly serve her were often found sweeping, carving, and polishing. A select few worked on the statuary that decorated niches up top near the viewing platforms and the outside spaces. Where there was not enough light, their personal luminescence was enough.  
  
The outer reaches of the space were decorated in preparation for the Festival. Incense hung in the air, amber and other land-based scents carefully mixed together with other, lighter notes. A week-long event, it required mind-bending amounts of cleaning, media, and decorating. The food alone was a budget that some hive-stem planning councils would lust after to improve municipal function. Lanterns burned against the pressing darkness of the mouth of the cave, pink light from the moon reflecting off of metal planes as they swayed gently in the breeze. Dusk would come soon and the work would move into the interior, exterior decorating paused until better lighting conditions were available. When evening fell the next day, they would come. Supplicants, the new crop of jades, all of those who were interested in their collective reason for existence.  
  
Ideally, all trolls ought to have honored the Mothers. Only a few truly did. Those that had appearances to keep up, those forced to care for her, and lastly those who pitied her were the ones that bothered to make a showing. The rest studiously ignored her and all of her implications. In some ways, that was better. Too much attention implied importance, suggested a commodity with value. Commodities were meant to be possessed. By their very nature the Mothers belonged to everyone and no one at the same time. It was better then for the general populace to enjoy a casual indifference.  
  
The wigglers crested the hill, shepherded by a clump of older guardians. Some strode forward with heads upright and expressions searching and attentive. Others walked stilted and silent, arms or wrists held in vice-like grips of the adults accompanying. If one was called to serve in the caverns, then one was obliged to go. There was no leeway. It was much the same way with military-grade kinetics. Societies require service to function, and this was accepted as an unspoken social contract of the world.  
  
Physically passing through the liminal time between wiggler and young adult, the new crop did not rightly fit either classification. Some of the minders did not care for such labels and called them wigglers anyway; until they showed what they are capable of, or displayed some modicum of talent. Respect was a big part of the Caverns and determined hierarchy where strife or social standing might have on the outside.  
  
Still, having shed their extra limbs and elongated out into their bipedal forms, they were now young ladies and a tiny smattering of young men. Most shared the hook/straight horn combination that denoted the jade caste. A few were aberrant, or had lost sections of horn to strife or other violence. The majority echoed the appearance of the other caretakers. Presenting a vision and feeling of unity strengthened the group and their ability to manage their own business. Oftentimes others tried to manage it for them.  
  
The young lady who was last to arrive, obviously a soulful sort, having spent the walk up to the caves observing décor, patrons, and the other minders. Hesitating while not actively resisting, she stopped in the threshold. Her minder tugged softly at her wrist. “Child, come. We need to keep up with the group.”  
  
She remained standing as she was, serious and a little serene. “I just want to memorize it,” she murmured, “to remember what it's like to not belong here.”  
  
She lingered a breath longer, and turned to continue with her escort, apparently satisfied with what she had seen. Following the line of her gaze, the minder could not help but agree. It was a beautiful display, this close to the festival, lights burning everywhere and the path up to the caverns lit like a trail of fire worming down into the shadows. The young ones were the ones with the most wonder left. It would be pertinent to send this one to directly help with the Mothers. Ancestors knew that if any being needed wonder, it was them.  
  
*  
  
Porrim Maryam smoothed her clothes into the new wardrobifer in her room, working in the relative stillness of a new and unfamiliar place. The room that they had settled her into was not horrible. A little plain, but not bad. The walls were a warm gray, a recupracoon tucked into a corner with a little mat set down outside of it to catch extra drips. The closet that she had been given for her extra things was moderate, but was enough for her. There was a little desk and a lamp near a window, and her escort had assured her that her husktop would be arriving shortly, along with a few other things that were being looked through.  
  
The fact that there were strangers going through her stuff angered her; but it had been explained that once in a while, someone got it into their pan to try and kill the Mother-Grubs. Why any troll would be insane enough to try something like that, she had no clue. Apparently it was something that happened in the past and so precautions needed to be observed. While she was still in her 'internship' she would not have access to sharp objects, and they would be monitoring her incoming and outgoing palmhusk data. After a few weeks with the others, she would be able to put pins in her hair again, the data-observation would cease and life would settle into normal.  
  
Normal felt like a foreign word. Things were normal before she was informed that she would go to do her caste-duty. What exactly that even was did not register at the time that she received her informational text. Something about her sex and the tint of her blood won her a lottery ticket for a drawing that she had not consciously entered. In rapid succession, windows opened in a corner of her husk, detailing rules, procedures and times. Closing it and setting it aside, Porrim finished adjusting her space and then settled down at the desk.  
  
There was a knock at the door. Shifting in her seat to face the entryway Porrim jerked her chin up in greeting. “What?”  
  
The minder from earlier in the day leaned against the doorway. One of her horns sat half-mast on her head, a little knitted cozy set over its edge. “I just wanted to see how you were adjusting. I know this isn't always the best day.”  
  
Digging a claw into the groove of the chair, Porrim shook her head. “It's not. You didn't ask me if I wanted this, and I don't have a choice. I didn't even know that there were laws on the books that allow you to just take kids away and tell them 'oh look, dear. Your genetic calling has been realized.' You must understand this is a bit of a shock. I had plans to go to Academy and study fashion. I was thinking about that. Maybe a double-major in social issues.” She knew she was rambling but, in this case, she did not care. She could not talk to her friends, she was in a strange place, with strange people, and felt overwhelmingly frustrated.  
  
The minder stood silently in the threshold, not further violating her space. “Bioethics,” she said when the words had stopped coming and Porrim stared her down with a steely glare from her chair. “Beg pardon?”  
  
“I wanted to go into Bioethics. My moirail when I was little was a goldblood. She's up in the air somewhere. Or else doing something in the military. I lost track of her when both of us were called to serve. I know you don't care about that and I know it doesn't make it better, but a lot of us have lost someone, or lost our lives. Just be thankful they didn't put you in a program where you have to start killing.” The minder shuffled, obviously not used to talking to others, if Porrim was any judge of it. She was not in the least bit sympathetic. Though apparently she had been kidnapped too and in that, they shared something. “Hey. What's your name?”  
  
The minder glanced back up from reading something on her palmhusk. “It's Avaret.”  
  
Avaret. Okay. “Avaret, are you going to be the one showing me around?”  
  
“If you'd like. There are others.”  
  
Considering it, Porrim rested her chin on her folded hands. Considered in one light, Avaret was part of the group that had just reconstructed her life forcibly. The other side of that thought was her direct delivery of the facts; and honesty was a trait that Porrim valued. It reminded her a little of Aranea and her tendency to ramble on at great length about any new information she learned. The rambling was not great, but the earnestness that she spoke with was. “I think you'll do. I just need to get used to it here. I think it may be a bit better when I get to start talking to my friends.”  
  
Avaret nodded. “I think so too. That and take up a hobby, once you have settled into your duties and understand the flow here. It makes it easier to adjust. And you will. You're a smart girl.”  
  
Porrim agreed.  
  
*  
  
Walking down the smooth stairs was scary. Slipper-shod feet were not ideal for this, Porrim was sure. When she asked why the slippers it was explained to her that soft-footsteps were better for the Mothers. The pluralization compelled her to ask a second question. “Mothers?”  
  
Slightly ahead of her in the hallways, hood down and arms slipped out of her cloak so that she could freely glow, Avaret glanced back at her. “There are currently three Mothers in this cave-system. There are four different brooding caverns worldwide.”  
  
Porrim blinked. “I always thought there was just one.”  
  
“One? To repopulate an entire planet?”  
  
Porrim pouted a bit. “That's what we've been told.”  
  
Turning and walking sideways, legs crossing in an over-complicated dance of descent and forward motion, the older jade smiled. “I have another question for you then. Where do the Drones and builders come from?”  
  
For the umpteenth time without an answer, Porrim kept a hand on the wall, trying not to linger-behind too far and slip into the pitch-dark of the hallway. Her eyes were adapted for dark, certainly. However, there was a difference between pitch and low-light. In pitch, different sets of senses took over and it was dizzying trying to retain her bearings in the unfamiliar labyrinth of caves. For the moment she clung to the light.  
  
“I dunno. Never really put much thought to them.”  
  
“The Mothers are responsible for them too. They're a different configuration than us as they serve a different purpose. But they are still trolls. There are Mothers that tend to have more clutches of servants-- the Drones, the builders. Others tend toward warmer hues rather than cooler, and still others are the reverse. For all that we have studied them, we still can't explain why some breed the way they do. For the health of our species it is best to have several at any given time. If a singular one were to die without an heiress? We would have a very odd population and generational drop-off.”  
  
That all made sense, Porrim supposed. “Okay.” It seemed a little odd that she had not known most of that while she was on the surface. “Why didn't anyone ever tell me that?”  
  
Avaret shrugged. “There is a lot of misinformation about the Mothers, misinformation and indifference. We prefer it that way down here. Most don't like to think about the fact that something as different-looking as they are spawned them, or that they are in fact related to the things that carry away bodies, transport genetic material, and move garbage. There is lip service to 'equal rights for those that move our society'. If you don't know that the whole PR campaign is caste-bullshit at its finest, you will learn. The average individual seems to think they just sprang forth from the ground, looking beautiful and with opposable thumbs.”  
  
Porrim chuckled at the thumb comment, even as she felt a bit sober about the rest of what Avaret said. She could admit that she was guilty of thinking of the Drones and the builders as sub-trolls. They were intelligent in their own way, but she had never heard any verbal language from them. It was explained once, that they communicated with vibration and pheromones. That sort of a communication style was as foreign to her as the way that sea-dwellers spoke underwater. As she aged, the memories of being a wiggler gradually grayed out and were replaced by those of schooling and of interacting with her compatriots. “How could anyone ever forget that? We have grubscars. The truth kind of peers at you every day in the mirror.”  
  
“You would be surprised how deluded or assertive a given person can be about forgetting humbleness in their life. It's very much the case with high-bloods. They are used to being the top of society. The fact that they were in a big mixed up batch of hues doesn't sit well with them. So they just ignore the Mothers and what early life is like. Instead they sit in the Hegemony, they preside in the courts and other seats of power and ignore them. As long as buildings get built and wigglers are hatched, it bears no more consideration.”  
  
Taken aback at the vehemence of her guide, Porrim slipped her hands into her pockets and considered what she had been told as they descended further. The air around them changed to an appreciably chiller temperature. “Don't they get cold?” Breaking the silence Porrim looked at the back of Avaret's head.  
  
“No, sweet. They don't. They do not enjoy being over-warm, nor do they like extreme chill. We keep their space temperature-adjusted”  
  
Porrim arched an eyebrow, trying to suss out her next thought. “Then how do the warmer-hues live? If there's that big of a temperature difference?”  
  
Glancing over her shoulder, Avaret smiled. “I knew I was right about you. You'll make a good caretaker. C'mon. I'll show you.”  
  
Stepping out of the stairwell and into an open space, Porrim blinked as the blue light of the higher areas of the caves returned. All around her fungi were fanned out in a web over the highly domed ceiling. The air in the cavern tasted different-- heavy and full of something she could not name.  
  
“Smells funny, huh?”  
  
Porrim was beginning to wonder if her teacher could read minds. “Yeah. What is it?”  
  
“Pheromones. The Mothers speak to the Drones that way.”  
  
Walking ahead a little, Porrim came to the edge of the viewing platform. Some distance below her, the massive, moist body of something very foreign floated in what appeared to be a shallow lake. Glossy, large wings lay settled against the ridge of its spine. At the edge of the water there was a perimeter set up, large platforms going in intermittent directions around it.  
  
“What are those?” Pointing down, Porrim leaned over the railing.  
  
Following line of her arm, Avaret smiled. “Access platforms for us. The Drones are winged, they come and go as necessary.”  
  
Tilting her head, Porrim tried to imagine being so close to the large thing in the water. It could easily crush her. “What reason would we have to get that close to it, er, to her?”  
  
Avaret's face settled into a rather blank mask. “That comes later in the training, Porrim. Don't worry about it now.” Beginning to move away she brushed her fingers along her shoulder. “Come now. You have feeds to do. I just wanted to show you where you may be working.”  
  
Glancing around, Porrim scanned the area. A drone perched in an upper-corner of the cavern, sitting and staring into a middle distance. A few other adults bustled around on the lower-floor. There were no others from her group. “Why aren't there any of the other new-kids?”  
  
“Not everyone is suited to be around the Mothers. I have a strong feeling you will be. Let's go. Be quick.”  
  
*  
  
\- GlisteningAusterity[GA] has started trolling ArachnidGuide [AG] –  
  
GA: I've finally settled in. Miss yo+u.  
AG: It's so good to hear from you! ::::) I was very concerned given the secretive and somewhat elusive nature of the group that you are now a part of. Certainly they are known to 8e very separatist. Are you adjusting well to the cult lifestyle my darling?  
GA: Well eno+ugh. Things are a bit labyrinthine do+wn here. They have assured me that I will glo+w when it is time to+ glo+w. For no+w it is literally and figuratively wandering aro+und in the dark.  
AG: Have you seen anything 8reathtaking?  
GA: A few strange things. I'm no+t sure ho+w much I am allo+wed to+ talk abo+ut, so+ I do+n't think I should share to+o+ much. I'm still technically in apprenticeship.  
AG: Of course. I would want to do nothing at all to jeopardize your position and safety within the group.  
GA: No+thing quite that serio+us. I can say that there have been repo+rts of terro+rism. I do+ no+t feel that my safety would be in jeo+pardy.  
AG: That's strange to hear, though I suppose I could understand why. There are certain factions of the populace that disagree with the management protocols of the Mother Gru8.  
GA: This is the kind of thing I'm talking about. Do+n't get me culled.  
AG: Trust me in that your culling is the furthest thing from my mind.  
  
*  
  
When the other minders told Porrim that she would find her inner radiance, she had greeted the information with both skepticism and no small amount of doubt. Laying in the quiet of the early morning listening to the feather-beasts fluttering outside of the glass plating separating her from the outside, she observed something different about the quality of the shadows on the ceiling. Pulling her head up higher out of the sopor, she followed the fuzzy line of the darker parts of the room, trying to pinpoint the source of light causing the shapes appearing up there. Some of it was the result of lighting under her door. Some of it was little slivers of light easing itself through the cracks of the window-covering. The pool of cool white did not have an easily discernible source. When she raised her hands to push at some of the lingering tacky fluid, the pattern changed. Bringing her fingers up the next couple of inches, she stared at their subtle shimmer. “Whoah.”  
  
The novelty of glowing ran out quickly and proceeded into routine and slightly awkward. Some of her clothes were thin enough that interior illumination showed off support garments and other parts of her that she did not wish to showcase. Folding one of the heavier cloaks around herself she went off to find Avaret and some advice on the matter.  
  
The adult cupped her face in her hands, claws brushing softly against the line of her jaw. A look of satisfaction briefly crossed her expression before it smoothed out into her usual look of contemplative sternness. “I thought you would be good for us and this is just further proof. As long as you finish your school-feeds with no problem and do all right with your sciences you will be joining us.”  
  
Huffing a little Porrim stepped out of her hands. “I am understanding that is more and more the case. More importantly, how do I stop glowing? I don't always want everyone to see my under-layers.”  
  
Avaret's mouth twisted in a sympathetic grin. “It just takes time, Porrim. You'll learn to let it wax and wane with necessity. But while you're younger? You are luminous. It is an exterior manifestation of your inner self.”  
  
A few thoughts bumped their way through Porrim's mind in rapid succession. Firstly: she would have to start making outfits with thicker fabric if that was the case. Secondly: glowing would present quite a problem for potential bedmates. Third: she had no potential bedmates, so worrying about that was really moot. Fourth: if she wanted to have some potential bedmates, translucent fabric in the wrong places was a bad plan. “Thank you Ava. I appreciate it.” Turning to go, she headed toward the labs where the tech was set up in a classroom setting and the other new kids all gathered to receive their training and testing.  
  
One of the few jade boys that had come with her had been her lab-neighbor for the last several meetings. There was little remarkable about him, other than the exquisite care he took in dressing. It was a possibility they might discuss fashion, for which Porrim held out great hopes. The fact that he took the time to re-lacquer his claws frequently and match his cufflinks to the variety of coats he showed up in, added to her feeling that he might be a kindred soul. Most of the caretakers wore practical clothing-- pants or leggings and hooded capes to protect against water or mucus splashes. Knee-high water-sealed boots in a spectrum of gray kept their feet dry. Some mixed it up and wore high socks with little patterns embroidered at the hem. Those were Porrim's favorite. In her free time she was working on embroidering a set of her own, fanciful spheres and abstracts curling and flowing over the edges of her fifty-percent gray socks.  
  
While the necessity of sturdy work-clothing was unquestionable – her heart wept for satin and silk. The day that she and her caretaker had first crossed the threshold of a fabric store was the day that she discovered what would become her favorite pastime. Ghosting her fingertips over different textures, weaves, and degrees of softness as wide as the hemospectrum, she knew that she would have to learn to manipulate fabric. Looking over the walls of subtly dyed accent fabrics, buttons, clasps and other manner of fussy-bits was like looking up at the stars. There was a galaxy of possibility fashioned entirely from buttons. All of the folded bolts were unfulfilled dreams, and she was nothing if not a dream-architect. The very next courses that she attempted in her allotted learning time dealt with fabric-craft. Everything about it was fair game to be consumed-- history, trends, the physical act of sewing, pattern making. That day and the rest of the sweep was dedicated to glutting herself with knowledge.  
  
  
A hand landed on her elbow and she glanced up along the length of it to find her neighbor giving her a quiet grin. “Yes?”  
  
He smiled, flashing a bit of fang. “I just had a question about the reading. Are they aiming you toward the caverns too?”  
  
Surprised at both his question and his intuition she rotated in her seat to face him. “Yeah. I'm guessing you too?”  
  
“Uh-huh. They say I have the temperament for it. Whatever that means.” Dropping his voice, her neighbor leaned in, eyebrows drawn down into a pensive line over his eyes. “I honestly think it's a little fucked up and sad down there. But I suppose if pity is a good quality to have when around them, then I'm a prime candidate. That and I'm good with maths and chemistry which has something to do with it. I'm just not overly interested in wading around knee-deep in genetic material.”  
  
Aiming for a neutral expression after the look of disgust that had previously occupied his face, he jutted a hand out in way of greeting. “It's Hellve. I've seen you around but I don't know your name yet.”  
  
For a moment horror and then amusement clouded Porrim's mind. It had never occurred to her that they would be actively traipsing through the reproductive juices of their race. Taking his hand, rings clicking softly against his own, she shook hello. “It's Porrim. Nice to meet you officially Hellve.” Grinning back, he gave her wrist a little squeeze.  
  
“Pleasure is mine. I've been dying to talk to you. You really must tell me where you found your top.”  
  
Smiling wide enough that she was sure her fangs showed, Porrim nodded. “Only if you tell me where it is that you found that particular tint of polish.”  
  
*  
  
“Tonight's the night my little ones.”  
  
Avaret leaned over the pair of them like the flap-beast of bad-news. “You will be coming with me down to help with one of the smaller Mothers.”  
  
Porrim switched off her tablet. In the interim between starting to glow and befriending Hellve, together they had fashioned cute and functional cavern-wear. Hellve had been an excellent source of suggestion on how to make a functional pant or skirt options. They had adjusted and copied a coat/cape combination that had both the right fit, shielded the head, and had great accents around the horns. Similarly adorned, Hellve gave Avaret his attention while she spoke. His mentor was more taciturn and less frequently seen than Ava, only appearing when it suited her. If Porrim remembered correctly her name was Kergan.  
  
Captchaloging what she had been reading she stood, smoothing her cape out behind her. “Will we have to go far?” The caverns went on for miles and even the luminescent students did not attempt to venture far into them without assistance – the smart ones at least. Out of the crop of their peers two had gone missing and remained unrecovered. There were crevasses to be aware of, as well as side-passages that wound off into the pitch and never looped back. One needed to be quite careful about where they went, minding the marked versus unmarked tunnels.  
  
Avaret shook her head. “Check your respective sylladexes. You should have maps equipped that will actively display your location and where you should and should not be. Also you will be traveling with me the first few times. You both can glow now, so feel free to shine. We will not be using lanterns. The Mother we are visiting recently was moved and the change in location was disturbing. The less that we do to stress her out, the more pleasant our visit will be.”  
  
Hellve leaned in at Porrim's side, frowning. “Why was she moved?”  
  
Avaret watched them both with a detached and inscrutable expression. “We'll talk about it when we get down there.”  
  
*  
  
Getting down there was a chore. Being the source of illumination proved more challenging than either of them had realized. Rather than keeping an even glow, they flickered for reasons that were up to guessing. Maybe it was pulse-based, or perhaps their glow was emotional. There appeared to be no rhyme and reason as to why they dimmed and then shone at off-intervals. Gently poking Avaret's elbow, Porrim asked her teacher. “Why is it that you can keep such a level glow? It seemed like we were uniform before, but I'm realizing that is not the case.”  
  
“It just takes practice.”  
  
“You know you have the most infuriating answers to all of my questions, right?”  
  
“That is the job of a mentor. To be cryptic and useless mostly.” Avaret's eyes caught the light as she glanced over her shoulder and bared her fangs in a grin at them.  
  
The sounds of fluid and the occasional splash announced their imminent arrival into the cavern proper. Along with sounds of life the quality of the light itself improved and Porrim surreptitiously removed her hand from the wall that she had used to orient herself. With a dramatic outward flourish, Avaret smiled and gestured toward a previously unoccupied pool. The Mother that rested in it was smaller than the one that resided in the main cavern. Avaret had explained that she and her students were not of sufficient level to attend her. That other Mother was the current largest producer of the group and tended toward the healthiest clutches. As such, only experienced caretakers approached her. In front of the group, their Mother leaned forward on her forelegs, settled long in her basin rather than curled into a ball like some of them were wont to do. Porrim noted that her wings were much larger than those of her sisters. Prodding at Hellve with an elbow she pointed. “Wonder why those are like that?”  
  
Rolling his shoulders he shrugged. “Dunno. We don’t get to much see them to compare. Maybe that’s just how she is. Like how some people’s horns are thicker or curvier.”  
  
Avaret finished fixing her lantern to the support structure that it would dangle from and smiled at them. “Partially true. She’s a little different because she’s a Mother to different parts of our species. From the time that she has been sexually mature, her clutches have mostly consisted of Drones and carpenters. The foundational members of our society, rather than the gray ones.” Decaptchaloging a tablet, Avaret began the practiced-journey across the stepping stones of the pond. “I think we should say hello.”  
  
Hellve looked highly skeptical and Porrim could not blame him. While the Mothers were interesting in a foreign way, they were also very alien. It was like someone had taken a skull out of one the anatomy diagrams in her science textbook and shoved it onto a wiggler body while granting it wings. Summoning her curiosity and her courage she led the way, holding her friend’s hand.  
  
The Mother shifted to face them completely, fanning her wings with a delicate 'snap'. The fluid around them rippled and their drapes flapped around them briefly. Porrim giggled, thinking that she would probably have to tie her hair back if their grub would flutter frequently. She could imagine that a lot of things would go flying if their Grub took it into her mind to be lively. It seemed sad that her wings were so small in proportion to her body -- she could not fly with them. Looking down at her feet to see if the fluid had splashed onto her boots she stopped and had to look at where the light filtered down from the top of the cavern. For a few seconds Porrim was mesmerized by the squares and abstract shapes of amber and green-tinted light that showed through the translucent panels of the Mother’s wings. It was similar in some ways to ‘stained glass’ that she had read about online. In some of the tyrian households the carpenters build elaborate and fanciful windows that showed off different colored light patterns at different times of night and day. While there was no one around during the day to enjoy the light, the concept remained a beautiful one.  
  
Avaret stood impassive and patient next to her. Lightly touching her arm she gestured up to the skeletal face of the Mother. “Mother, these are Porrim and Hellve. They are two of your new caretakers.”  
  
The Grub winked her eyes slowly, fanning her wings out wider. Porrim felt her mind fuzz slightly, similar to when she first settled into sopor for the morning. ~ Hello child. ~  
  
Staring at the Grub, Porrim addressed her verbally. “Are you speaking to me?”  
  
Avaret grinned indulgently, retreating back to tap away at a workstation set back slightly from the pool.  
  
The Grub parted her jaws slowly, making a spine-tingling chittering noise. The sharp points of her fangs glittered with the thin layer of moisture covering them. ~Yes child. If I were speaking to the Drones I would sing to them. ~ Porrim gaped, looking at the long expanse of the Mother's throat.  
  
“What should I call you?”  
  
Slowly hinging her mouth shut the Grub lowered in her pool, aiming an eye at Hellve and Porrim both. ~I would assume you would call me Mother, like all of the other caretakers do. A few switch it up and call me Homebuilder. ~  
  
Porrim waved the statement and the sentiment that accompanied it away with a frown. “That's not what I'm asking you. What would you like to be called?”  
  
The Grub reared up, and in the corner of her eye Porrim caught the flash of something being decaptchaloged. Instead of turning her attention to it though, she pressed on, stepping closer to the Mother that they now served. If she was going to be a good caretaker she needed to get used to huge things very close to her, and perhaps develop a talent for flashstep.  
  
~ I have never had the opportunity to decide what I am called. I will have to think on it. ~  
  
Taking a chance Porrim stretched upward, standing on the tips of her toes to pap at the Grub's face. “You are a creator of the world that I live in. I think you are entitled that much.” Smoothing her thumb along the strange plane of the Grub's face she grinned. Avaret broke the moment, standing at her side with a hand placed firmly on her shoulder, claws pressed into her skin.  
  
“She has had a big day. It's time for us to go.” Dipping at the waist in a ceremonial bow, their teacher turned and headed purposefully toward the stairs.  
  
Peeking over her shoulder at the Grub, Porrim winked. ~ I'll see you soon. Can you hear me? ~  
  
The Mother winked back.  
  
*  
  
“Her face is so weird. You can see the muscles moving. I would think that there would be more exoskeleton to protect her!” Hellve was much more animated during their ascent than he had been when confronted with the Grub.  
  
Porrim could sympathize with his previous silence. Had she been less curious, and spent a bit more time observing their new charge, the differences of her body would have been a point of discomfort. As it was, the fact that she was conversational astounded Porrim. When learning about the Grubs no mention had been made about the fact that they talked to trolls; only that they communicated in several different fashions with the building-types. “Why would she need hard parts? We are her hard parts. Between us and the Drones anything that gets near them is getting fucked up.”  
  
“Language, lovely lady.” Hellve smirked at her, sass evident in his tone. “We got to keep it classy down here!”  
  
“My language is appropriate to the amount of ass that is getting kicked if anyone tries to touch them. That's just fact. We are battle-troglodytes.”  
  
Hellve chuckled as Avaret held the door for the pair of them. Remembering something, he turned toward their teacher. “You never did tell us why she was moved.”  
  
“Behavioral issues,” the tone that Avaret replied with dripped silk and practiced disingenuous charm. It disturbed her when any of the caretakers put on their Public Relations persona. That type of voice was meant to detract or deflect irritating questions and arguably might have a bit of psi behind it. Falling into step she slipped her arm through Avaret's in a mimicry of escorting her down the hall; giving Hellve a significant nod encouraging him to go ahead. Catching the hint easily, her classmate continued down a divergent hallway, leaving them to talk.  
  
“What sort of behavioral issues? And why is it that no one ever mentioned the Mothers can talk?”  
  
“She was not getting along with her sister. They fought. And it was not mentioned because until today it was not relevant. Once in a while we get girls who are on the same frequency as the Mothers. They can talk and be talked to. I did not wish to get your hopes up. Statistically only five or so percent of any generation can talk to them. I cannot.”  
  
That answered one of Porrim's following questions. “But why wouldn't they document that power? I mean, it's kind of important to know that there's something going on in there. Right?” Disengaging her arm, Avaret let the question hang unanswered.  
 **  
“Be careful with our Grub, Porrim. She has a temper.”  
  
  
II. Fear Her  
  
** \- ArachnidGuide [AG] has started trolling GlisteningAusterity[GA] –  
  
AG: So I miss you and cultural lit is not at all as interesting as I thought that it originally might 8e.  
AG: When I took this class I assumed that we could poke holes in the social paradigm as a set. Or at least find some common themes 8etween fiction and costume. I think that would 8e a fantastic final, don't you? Instead you are 8usy 8eing a cave-dweller. Have you at least learned anything of interest? Any folklore that I can 8orrow for my term papers?  
GA: There is a fair amo+unt that I want to+ tell yo+u. But I am no+t certain that I am allo+wed to+ share much o+f it. Suffice to+ say that things have beco+me exciting. I finished my training. If I co+me acro+ss any sto+ries o+f the Mo+thers I will make sure to+ relate them to+ yo+u pro+mptly.  
GA: There is no+t a sense of archival histo+ry do+wn here tho+ugh. Mo+re like living, practical histo+ry.  
AG: Argh. There's my alarm. I have to go. 8ut I'll talk to you soon!  
  
\- ArachnidGuide [AG] has ceased trolling GlisteningAusterity[GA] –  
  
GA: I wish that I co+uld tell yo+u everything.  
GA: There is a lo+t that I'm no+t allo+wed to+ say.  
  
\- There has been a network error. Your messages could not be sent at this time. -  
  
GA: Ugh. I kno+w.  
  
\- There has been a network error. Your messages could not be sent at this time. -  
  
Eventually her messages would stop being censored. Yeah right, it was the biggest load of tinkerbull crap she had been fed in her short life.  
  
*  
  
The first solo foray into the dark was the most harrowing, as far as Porrim was concerned. Beyond simply knowing the way – a feat now more manageable by memorization of the slow-growing moss overhead-- Porim felt that visiting on her own accord might set a good tone and make her guest feel at ease.  
  
There were few other guardians on the floor at this time of day. Most of them were enjoying a rest period. The large Mother spoke to Drones fluttering around her, humming a low beautiful note. Having received instruction the individuals scattered, headed for tunnels up to the surface. The echoes of the sound bounced around the cave and Porrim felt it resonate inside of her bones. Moving her attention to her own Mother she offered out one of her baby sounds, trying to find the chirrups and chitters from when she was a wiggler.  
  
~I've come back to talk to you! Are you resting? ~  
  
The Mother raised her head, angling the horns that mirrored Porrim's at her. The tilt of her head implied curiosity. ~Daughter, why are you here? You should be resting. ~  
  
Approaching carefully, hair tied back this time and swinging in a tail between her shoulders, Porrim moved toward the edge of the pool. Hopping over the stepping stones, she put her gloved-hand on the sticky body of the grub, coming to rest against the curve of her jaw ~Have you decided what it is that you want to be called?~  
  
The grub shuffled, causing Porrim to rock and the water to splash. The feeling was dizzying and thrilling. The Mother was comically larger than her, but Porrim felt safe. ~I honestly don't know. What would you call me? ~  
  
~ I would call you something beautiful, or something heroic, for you are both. ~ Finding that she meant what she said sincerely Porrim quietly traced her claws along the broad expanse of jaw she leaned against. Passingly she wondered if the skin that was on the Mother's face was insensate, and if it was not, where she liked to be touched. If they were caregivers, they were the equivalent of pale partners to immeasurably special beings. When one was pale for another you took care of that other.  
  
~I don't know what sort of a title could encompass that much. ~  
  
Porrim frowned and was forced to admit that she did not have an appropriate title either. ~I'll find you the most beautiful name. I suppose if I got to choose my own titles I would want something relevant to my interests. I like to sew. Do you know what that is? ~  
  
~I do not. You will have to teach me. There really is much that you will have to teach me if you have the patience for it. I am curious. ~  
  
Circling the rock that she stood on, Porrim glanced up at the Mother. Her base assumption was that everyone did the school-feeds. The Grubs were not an 'everyone'. They were possessed of an alien intelligence, not the sort that understood words and science; but instead the sort that felt the passing of the seasons on a cellular level and existed in a world made of scent and vibration. The fact that her Grub was curious and had never had a chance to learn about things made her immeasurably sad.  
  
~What is it that you are curious about?~  
  
~ Everything. ~  
  
Boggling slightly at the implications, Porrim laughed. ~ I think that I'll come down, just you and I. And we'll do school-feeds together. It'll teach you a few things. From there we can make more targeted inquiries. Sadly I am not a professor. But we could learn together. I have some friends that are studying currently and they may be able to recommend a few things for us as well. ~  
  
~ I would like that. ~  
  
*  
  
Day-lessons proceeded at a sedate pace. Some days the Mother was tired and did not have the concentration to learn the lesson they planned. Instead Porrim would sit and talk with her – eventually graduating to laying on the her broad forehead and leaning against one of her horns. The direct contact made communication effortless.  
  
They spoke of fashion, culture, food, and quadrants. All that Porrim shared the Grub was eager to listen to, and frequently had questions that expanded the topics to a point where Porrim had to look things up. It was a delight and a blessing.  
  
Some days the Mother had nothing to say at all, curled in on herself and mostly unresponsive as if she kept the most important secret of the world and even the act of uncurling would give it away. Avaret explained that the curling behavior was a leftover from wigglerhood and to ignore it. Porrim's teacher did not approve of all of the fraternization. That much was clear every time that Porrim yawned during their regular shifts together. Still, she never said anything about it and Porrim was content to let the issue lie unadressed.  
  
On a curled-up day Porrim crossed the pond, now quite unperturbed by its implications. “How are you feeling today?” Purring at her, she smoothed her palms along the Mother's chin, gazing up at her.  
  
The reply to her question curled slowly out into her mind. ~I love you a great deal, my Porrim. But I do not wish to speak to you today. I have entertained other caretakers and my body is sore and my mind fuzzy. Please leave. ~  
  
Stepping back and granting her some distance, Porrim could not help but ask a few further questions.  
~ What did they do that tired you out so? ~  
  
~ The usual, beloved. ~ The shadows around them danced as the Grub shuffled her wings into a more comfortable position along her back.  
  
~ What is that? ~  
  
~ Poking. Prodding. Always poking and prodding. They move around inside of me to get me with a clutch. They dose me with strange things so that my body feels it is time to spawn.  
  
Meddling. You will grow up to be a meddler. But at least you will listen to me. I have hopes of this at least. ~  
  
Mouth agape, Porrim stared at her. “What do you mean?” Drugs. It sounded like she was being drugged. ~I thought that you didn't mind us helping with all of the birthing. That's what we are for.~  
  
~Perhaps there was a time when you did help. But I would not call it that now. I listen to my minders and they talk about 'fertility rates' and 'probable clutch size'. Other times they talk about 'adjusting for genetics.' One of their favorites is 'population control and development'. With the context that you have given me these words begin to mean something. That I am a tool for the advancement of my children. If I think of it like that, then the discomfort is worth it.  
  
I sometimes wish though that they would listen to me. I can taste when a clutch is bad – if the eggs will be sick or malformed. Sometimes the majority of a batch is incorrect and it would be better if I could simply re-consume them and get the nutrients to do better next time. Instead they hold me down, they prod at me so I sleep. And on we march. More of them in my body, more of them bustling around like strange little Drones that cannot fly. And now you.  
  
You are the only one that has ever listened to me. I love you dearly. That is the word, right? When one wants to be close and feels happy? That is love? I love you so. I have liked that word from the time that I first heard it. I cannot work the interfaces so I could not look it up. And the computers will not answer my voice. So I must depend on you to tell me these things. ~  
  
Disregarding the tears dripping slowly down the side of her face and horrendously smudging her eyeliner, Porrim nodded, trying to honor the words by listening to them fully. ~ I love you too. You got the definition perfectly. ~ Previous to that moment Porrim had not been privy to the fact that sent thoughts had volume and weight. That particular sending was as delicate and soft as she could make it.  
  
~Just so Porrim. I know you do. Your care shows in the time that you give me. ~  
  
*  
  
Laying flat on the Grub's head while Hellve bustled around below them, adjusting temperature control and other small environmental issues. ~ Momma? ~  
  
~Yes love? ~  
  
That evening was a good one, the Mother was in an excellent mood and had been subtly splashing at Hellve and fluttering her wings to make the liquid of her pool ripple. Always amiable, Hellve gently tossed little stones in the water back at her, which she would 'tap' with her forelegs.  
  
~ Why is it that you can talk and the others don't? I can hear you so I think I should be able to hear them. I can sort of 'hear' the moods of the big Sister that's a little westward of you. She doesn't think the same way you do. ~  
  
The Mother slid lower into the water, slipping her limbs under herself contemplatively. ~ It may be that you and I are uniquely bonded. Or else she is starting to go insane. ~  
  
Startled, Porrim sat up, leaning against the Grub's hooked horn. ~What do you mean? ~  
  
~Precisely what I say darling. We start to go insane after a while. I like that word. It is a very apt description. Before I would have said that we turn into 'shufflers'. ~  
  
That sounded terribly ominous. Almost afraid to get the answer, but always one to push for it anyway, Porrim settled herself belly-down on the curve of the Mother's head. ~ I don't really want to know, do I Momma?~  
  
~ It will likely make you sad. Which is one of the reasons that you are my treasure. But you do want to know. Otherwise you would not have asked. ~  
  
Porrim really could not argue with the truth of the statement. ~Tell me? ~  
  
~ Some of my sisters, after too many clutches do not talk any more. They can no longer talk to the Drones right. They make no sense when they speak to us. We talk amongst ourselves, as much as possible. However, it really is impossible to escape. All of us go crazy. And for a few sweeps after that we still produce. The prodding and meddling assures that. The caretakers trick the Drones into returning for the brood with scents and schemes. And then we die. ~  
  
It was all so matter of fact that Porrim found no reply. ~Always? ~  
  
~Always. Other than the virgins. Sometimes there are tiny sisters that for whatever reason are pulled away. They are used for 'science'. I do not know what that means, but I do not see them again when they are hatched. They also disappear. To be born down here is to be committed to mind-sickness before meeting your actual death. ~  
  
Porrim rolled onto her back, covering her face in her hands and rubbing as hard as she could, trying to clear away the disturbing images that popped up with the Mother's statement. “Hellve.”  
  
From below in the shadows, his answer drifted up. “What bomb did she drop on you now?”  
  
Thanking the Ancestors for Hellve, Porrim pursed her lips, the texture of her lipstick causing them to stick together a few seconds longer than necessary. “Did you know that all of them start out having organized thoughts? Like Momma does. And that they slowly go insane. It sounds like she is implying that all of the breeding directives and assistance speeds up the process.”  
  
Looking disturbed and disgusted, Hellve leaned forward on his elbows. “Is she talking about the ones like the Mother over in cave seven?”  
  
Finding a way to translate the distance and number in her head, Porrim softly rubbed a hand over their Grub's horn. ~ Hellve wants to know if your sister in this room—if she is one of the ones that you're talking about?~  
  
~ She is. ~  
  
“Momma says she is.”  
  
“How does she know?”  
  
~ Hellve says--  
  
~I know what he says. I can hear him, my treasure. Thank you for being our intermediary. ~  
  
Intermediary was the word of the day. The Mother Grub had requested that Porrim give her several hard words a day to learn and their meanings. She spent the time in between their visits practicing. Momma had a quick wit and a quicker memory. ~I know because I've seen it happen before and I imagine that I will see it happen again. You can tell by the eyes. They don't focus on anything anymore. Not that it matters to most of the meddlers, but they can't talk coherently anymore. They will hold their heads low and shuffle back and forth. They don't move their wings any longer. When one of us gets like that, there is a sweep or so left. Then they will die. ~  
  
Translating it, Porrim felt sick. The Mother in the third cave was showing signs. After realizing that their Mother Grub could talk, she made it a habit of thinking at the Sisters that she had access to. Usually the effort was met with pleasant response-- a soft brush of the mind back at her, or a chirp. Some still had their words and said hello. In some cases she had managed to communicate issues to the handlers of a given Grub and improved situations.  
Hellve came and sat at the edge of the platform, looking up, long black braid pooling on the ground near his hips. “That's awful. Why don't they do something for them? How do we change things so that doesn't happen?”  
  
The Mother tilted her head down, a subtle signal to Porrim that it was time to get off. Sliding down her forehead and jumping free, Porrim settled down next to Hellve. Regarding them both, she shifted her wings, throwing fractal patterns briefly over their faces with the way they interrupted the light.  
  
~I don't know. I just know that when you started talking to me, I felt better. I have talked to my Sisters and some of them feel better also. Perhaps it is talking. Not at us, but to us. We don't all have words, but we listen to you when you talk to us. We are compliant with your requests not because we must be, but because we appreciate the care you give us, such that it is. ~  
  
Clapping her hands together, Porrim smiled. “Maybe then, if we are a bit more hands-on, if we can listen to them, they'll feel better? I really, really, don't want to hurt any of them. That is not the reason that we are down here. We're down here to care for you all. Your bodies know when you're ready to have more children. Maybe I can talk to my superiors and see if we can stop the hormonal supplements...”  
  
Hellve surprisingly had been very informational in terms of what they did to the bodies of the grubs. Having scored higher in the science testing he was being trained to become one of the very meddlers that Momma frequently complained about. The upside to that eventuality was that he might be able to affect the program from within. While most of her sympathized with their grub in regard to her personal space and the workings of her body, there was a tiny part of Porrim that worried about why the other caretakers bothered with such invasive measures. Questions of population and breed-health were unpleasantly real and required answers that Porrim could not adequately provide.  
  
~ Whatever you can do for me that would decrease the visits of the trolls with the needles would gladden my heart. I am wholly sure that it would please my sisters as well. Now your friend that is outside of the caves. Aranea. Has she told you anything new? Any new stories? ~  
  
Porrim leaned against Hellve's shoulder and chuckled. “I have a few. Mind if I speak out loud? Hellve is a bit of a literature-buff as well and he likes to hear the stories too.”  
  
~ They don't come with your beautiful imaginings but I suppose that I shall have to create my own in that case. Then we may compare. Tell me! ~ Wiggling up to the platform Momma set her chin against a sturdier part of the rock, patiently waiting for the beginning of the story. The real reason for telling Hellve the story was playful. Reliable sources had mentioned that he had his eyes on one of the groundskeepers and would entertain him while he gardened with his extensive knowledge of literature. The groundskeeper also was a literature aficionado and this worked in the favor of all parties.  
  
  
*  
  
One of Porrim's favorite parts of her job was the group-wide meetings that were held every few perigees. The caretakers came together en-mass to discuss how the Mothers were faring, behavioral issues, the assisting species and everything in between. Crunched in between Hellve and his science mentor and with Avaret at her other side, Porrim was an enthusiastic participant in the group discussion. By mutual agreement she and Hellve did not talk to others about what their Grub had told them. With any institution, change needed to be addressed carefully and begun thoughtfully.  
  
So they both slipped suggestions in subtly. Perhaps they should re-check the data about population control and see how the hormonal treatments affected batch-size. Hellve posed the question and Porrim followed up with an innocent concern: was there a possibility that their intervention was interfering with the pheromone communication between the workers and the Mothers? Maybe those that interacted directly with the Grubs should be trained to speak with them and be attentive to signs of response. The gathering on a whole was receptive.  
  
On their way out, Avaret's hand slid down iron-tight around Porrim's wrist and they veered sharply into a side tunnel. Glowing in response to the sudden dark, Porrim felt her pulse raise uncomfortably. “Ava, what's up?”  
  
“You know.”  
  
“No, I really don't. And I mean, if you were flush for me, there were easier ways to talk about it-”  
  
A finger pressed itself sharply to her mouth,centered between her fangs. Porrim clamped her jaw shut, staring forward. Avaret leaned in close, the smell of chemicals and flowers following her. Most of the time she helped in the greenhouse on the surface-level or assisted in the science department when she was not down with the Mothers.  
  
“I know that you spend a great deal more time with your Grub than is necessary. I know that you speak with her. What I need you to know is that what you are doing is dangerous. When you speak to a being that has only one venue of communication and complaint you are going to get a very biased view.  
  
We do the things that we do for a reason. It keeps the Mothers safe, it keeps us safe, and it ensures that our species continues the way that it should. I need you to stop spending excessive time down with her. And don't drag Hellve down with you. I am not asking you not to care, nor am I asking you to quit your job.  
  
What I am telling you is that the path you are walking is very dangerous.”  
  
Pushing at Avaret's hands and baring her fangs in frustration, Porrim threw all of the questions that had been buzzing around inside of her at her teacher, wondering if she had more of her compact and easy answers.  
  
“So it's all right with you that they drug sentient beings on a frequent basis? That we let them wallow in boredom and non-stimulation until they go insane? Because that is what happens Ava! They're not dumb! My Grub, she's really smart. She got through the basic school-feeds faster than most wigglers did when I was doing them.”  
  
Avaret eased Porrim's hands down in front of her, quietly holding her wrists but listening. “I know.”  
  
The statement stopped Porrim cold. “You know?”  
  
“We have known that they can talk for a while. But stimulation or not, learning or not, all of them get the mind-death. It's just a part of their life-cycle, Porrim.”  
  
Feeling sick and disoriented, Porrim tugged at the hands wrapped around hers. “You know. You know this but we don't even make them comfortable? And how do we know? There are no records that show it.”  
  
Avaret looked uncomfortable, tracking a line of luminescent moss with her gaze and avoiding Porrim. “My teacher. He could hear them too. He tried to do a lot for them. Taught them and didn't teach them. Worked with them and left them alone. It all turned out the same. It's just life, Porrim. That's all it is. We don't put it in the training because it is stressful and horrible and sad. And only one out of every few batches of guardians can hear them anyway.  
  
It is easier on all parties if the caretakers don't know that their friend is deteriorating.”  
  
Voice softening, her teacher wrapped her arms around Porrim, pulling her against the line of her chest. “Shoosh honey. I know it's sad and I'm sorry about that; but drop it. It is best. You have a relationship with your Grub and you can keep that, but as a larger practice what they want will not work. They will go insane. Seeing it happen naturally is very frightening and they want to avoid it but they cannot. So they call out to us, those that care for them. We can't do anything either and it breeds resentment and anger in the more cognizant ones. ”  
  
Shoving at Avaret's chest, Porrim wiggled out of her arms, resisting pacification. “You're talking from fear. You don't want to deal with them so you won't. I don't believe that all of them -have- to go insane. I know that there is another way. I'm going to show you!”  
  
Avaret's eyes burned like strange green candles in the dark of the hall as she fled the hallway for the more open and lighted spaces where the rest of the group congregated. The instructor did not follow.  
  
*  
\- GlisteningAusterity[GA] has started trolling ArachnidGuide [AG] –  
  
GA: I need yo+u to tell me so+mething beautiful. Right in this mo+ment. Due to+ Big Sister I canno+t give yo+u details. Just kno+w that I need so+mething go+o+d.  
GA: Right no+w.  
GA: Please?  
AG: You've come at the 8est time love. I just happen to have something delightfully good for you.  
AG: Get ready for some tldr!  
AG: One of the li8rarians at the campus main 8ranch owed me a favor and got me into the restricted section.  
AG: And what did I find there? Other than this little short story.  
  
\- GA wants to send you ohmygoshthisisveryveryexciting.txt -  
\- AG has accepted ohmygoshthisisveryveryexciting.txt -  
  
GA: Aranea, what did yo+u just send me?  
AG: Folklore. Amazing, fantastic, interesting, OLD, folklore. We are talking pre-starflight.  
GA: There aren't a to+n of reco+rds fro+m that time.  
AG: And this is why you love me. And wish for my long-term and fulfilling 8liss. ;:::)  
  
*  
  
Opening the file and reading it, Porrim curled her feet under her on the cushion in her room. Aranea had been lying about the 'tldr'-factor of the story. The tale itself barely filled up a page. A few translation notes preceded it.  
  
' _This work was partially recovered as one of set of several tales from a larger collection. As the site where these were unearthed had been destroyed and submerged, most artifacts were in untenable condition. Some could not be moved. The following translation is provided of a text that was originally from the southernmost-continent_.'  
  
A collection of footnotes followed, linked presumably to images of the tomes and other relevant information. Beginning to read in earnest, Porrim hunched over her tablet curiously.  
  
' _The Mother is the source of all things and all things in turn answered back to the Mother. Out of her body came life, in her eyes are hidden all of the answers to every question. In every living child, maker, thinker or builder, one of those questions is answered. As the source, she sends small parts of herself out, filling the world and enriching it beyond measure._  
  
 _Listen well wiggler, perched in a lap or curled up on a knee to the tale that I will tell you. It is a story of a time when we had not yet brushed the stars._  
  
 _Life is as you might imagine it to be: guided by the aristocracy toward long-term stabilization and kept beautiful and alive by the general populace. However, even with the best planning and the most careful management we began to grow. The liveable spaces that would not drive a troll directly into a cold-induced coma were few and rapidly shrinking. A little girl, just like you* was troubled by the idea._  
  
 _She walked down the long and twisting roads painted out in the moonlight._  
 _She walked over the long and rolling hills, past the grass-beasts that bounced and looked back at her with horns much like her own._  
 _She walked toward the deep places in the ground where all of the secrets dwelt, disappearing out of the light._  
  
 _(Note: There are missing sections of the work here. Translation resumes where there is next legible text)_  
  
 _Stella sat at the Mother's feet, quietly painting the signs of her clutch onto one great claw. Carefully representing her quadrantmates, her cohort, all of those that she cared for, she stared up into the Mother's grave and wise face. She knew that she must find the correct words for a Mother was never to be found in the same place twice._  
  
 _“Mother. I fear that we will all become no more than a pile of bones. In your grace and your love you gave us life. Why go to such trouble if this is what will come of us?”_  
  
 _The Grub waited patiently, warm pink moonlight filtering through the canopy of her great wings. Attendant at her side the guardians stood in watchful rows._  
  
 _“When I gave you life on this world I gave enough space for your cool brothers and sisters to reign long and shepherd you. I gave your warm siblings enough space to thrive and live: to discover what life had to offer in their short and burning lives. It has been long 'since I have come to this place, and 'since my Mother was born. Perhaps it is time that we seek a different one.”_  
 _Amazed that she was being included in the discussion and not told what to do, Stella left her painting to dry, a fitting love-gift to the one that had birthed her. The story of her family was the story of the Mother's success by proxy._  
 _“If we went somewhere, where would we go? The dark is too cold for living. The seasons are too long. We will die. We cannot travel North nor much further South.”_  
  
 _“Then my darling go up.”_  
  
 _Stella stared upward at the pitch night above her, pink-tinted clouds hovering in the air._  
  
 _“Mother how?”_  
  
 _“Through my body, little daughter._  
 _You will use my workers to build yourself transportation._  
 _You will use the guardians to keep you safe._  
 _I will give you many more siblings so that through their collective knowledge you will understand what must be accomplished._  
 _And when I die my love, when I die you will use my wings to wrap around yourself._  
 _I will shield you from the heat and the cold of the void._  
 _In my bones and my flesh you will find further secrets._  
 _All of these I have guarded and kept for you until the right time._  
 _Use them._  
 _This is what you should do”_  
  
 _Pressing a kiss to the great claw Stella scrambled up and returned home._  
  
 _Heed well small wiggler, this is the story of your Mother. All things begin and end in her. She offers you all and asks nothing in return. She sent us to the stars, she will keep us always._  
  
 _(Note: In researching this, the timeline is accurate to when trolls first accomplished space-travel. It is likely this was a folklore designed to simplify explanation of that fact and the reason for it. It is also interesting to note that some of the structural proteins in Mother Grub wings make excellent components to sturdy ship-windows. It allows for flexibility while maintaining strength._  
  
 _* This is typical call and response for fiction of this time. An attempt to teach the listener a moral lesson or historical. Sex of the wiggler can be adjusted to suit the audience.)_  
  
*  
  
The discussion with Avaret fresh in mind, Porrim did not travel down to see Momma that morning. However she showed up early that evening, a length of ribbon looped around her shoulders. Hopping and skipping over the stones she took a leap over onto the Grub, quietly walking across the broad plane of her skull. Used to her, the Mother did not stir, instead radiating affection at her. ~ As you can tell Porrim, I'm tired today. Lots and lots of drugs this time around. Something about using a different cocktail on me. I thought that you talked to them about that? ~  
  
Rubbing the pointier of the two horns she stood between, Porrim felt a shot of guilt run through her chest. ~ I'm trying. These things take time. But! But. I have something good. And I have your name. Do you want to hear it?~  
  
Interested, the Grub shuffled her wings. ~ Of course. Get to it. You know I am not patient. ~  
  
~ You should be called Stella. Let me tell you why!~ Relating the story of the girl-wiggler who brought the idea of the heavens to society delighted her. The words were stronger and more interesting in the retelling than they had been in the reading. ~What do you think about that? ~  
  
Throughout the whole of the story the Grub remained still, and then she rose, humming a clear and deep note that made Porrim laugh with the strength of it.  
  
~ It is a beautiful name Porrim. Thank you for it. ~ Pleased that Stella was pleased, Porrim went about carefully twining ribbon around her horns, dancing around their circumference as if they were festive poles.  
  
*  
The first sign that something was wrong was hinted at in the quality of the light on her ceiling. Slipping up and breaking the surface of the sopor Porrim felt tired and dazed. Blearily regarding the alarm she winced. It had been barely a few hours from the time she had first gotten into the recupracoon. Trying to find the source of her unwanted wakefulness she gazed around the room. Window was covered enough not to let excess light in. No alarms were going off and her palmhusk sat firmly ensconced in its case adjacent her recupe.  
  
Getting out and drying off, Porrim rubbed at her eyes. It was unusual for her to wake up without some reason so it seemed logical that she should find the cause of her consciousness. A shout echoed through the hall.  
  
There was her cause. Pulling up her tablet she scanned the caves' intranet and noted that there was a warning advisory about the breeding pools. Non-senior staff were instructed not to descend. Feeling like she was being flipped a glorious electronic bird by the establishment she let the tablet fall back onto her desk and hustled down the halls.  
  
Whatever was going down, it was serious enough that the usual guardian-trolls had neglected their posts. The agitated buzzing of the Drones overwhelmed the other noises of caretakers running and medics running. Arriving to the observation deck her eyes failed to comprehend what she was looking at. Instead of the neutral-yellow and mineral colors that the pools normally were, most of them were tinted a dull green. Deafening noise filled the chamber, wings fluttering and scraping, claws scrabbling against limestone and some of the other soft materials, more trolls yelling. Drones and builders alike zipped and moved through the air in a storm, blocking out the ceiling.  
  
Of the three Mothers that were usually visible only one clearly remained in her space. A long gouge along her side was open and she lay very still. The fatty tissue of her body hung out, and long drooling lines of mucus and other fluids dripped slowly down into the pools. A collection of Drones remained at her side, blocking access from caretakers and others.  
  
Shifting her attention to where Stella should be there was another knot of activity. A swam of minders stood near the larger of the two Grubs, attempting triage on facial and chest wounds. Stella, the smaller of the pair hissed and clicked, vibrating her wings at the smaller group of guardians and caretakers advancing on her from several sides. Smart enough to realize that she could not outrun them she had wedged herself into a corner of her pool, protecting her back. Drones hovered uncertainly above her, unwilling to attack the caretakers but unable to leave the Mother. Porrim assumed that there was a psychic somewhere in the group holding them still.  
  
Swinging her head down low, sweeping her horns in a frightening arc she caused the small group to scatter backward. Screaming at them angrily, Stella bared her fangs, rearing up so that her forelegs landed hard on the platform they stood on, shaking the ground and causing a few to fall. Mixed into the middle of the chaos, Hellve stood near a terminal. Spurred to action, Porrim sprinted down the stairs.  
  
“WAIT! JUST EVERYONE WAIT. SHE'LL CALM DOWN. I CAN MAKE HER CALM DOWN!”  
  
Skidding along in the splashed water from the pool, Porrim almost overbalanced. Throwing her arms gracelessly out to the side she pushed off of a near rock, desperate to get closer, to stop what was happening. Nothing made sense and her friend was in the middle of it and they were going to hurt Stella.  
  
~Stella, you have to stop!!! Okay? Just stop!!~  
  
Stella stopped, sliding one eye over to where Porrim stood slightly to the side of the group, chest heaving with the exertion of running down. Still humming and chittering angrily she lashed her wings, wavelets forming and then cresting up onto the platform. Bringing a leg down with shaking force near her, she loomed over Porrim. ~ You told me. You said that they wouldn't do this anymore. That last clutch was bad. All of them were. And my sisters, my poor sisters are too addled to care. So I did what I needed to do. If I am your Stella, if I am the girl who gives you the stars then I have to start by giving you quality servants and healthy siblings. Nothing out of this batch is anything like that!~  
  
Hands trembling and sliding around in the great amounts of water on the platform Porrim reached up, her sopor-encrusted hair clinging to her face. "Stella you are the best. You are the best Mother. You are our best friend. So … so please. Shoosh. Shoosh and be still. You're bleeding.”  
  
The Mother grub eased the bulk of her body back into her pool, attention divided between Porrim and the group cautiously waiting to one side. Long lacerations decorated her chest as well, presumably from where she fought with the others. Porrim tapped out a quiet rhythm against her mandible, staring the Mother down with all of her palest intent. If she could soothe her and calm her down then maybe everything would be all right and all of the havoc would not matter. Remembering what Avaret had mentioned about ‘behavioral problems’ Porrim now grasped the reality of it. Stella was aggressive and dangerous. It followed, as Stella was often the mother of Drones, of the most aggressive part of their species. Still, that same Grub was the one that delighted in folklore and liked it when Porrim wove colorful ribbons around her horns.  
  
Near the terminal someone made a move, and Porrim heard the familiar sound of weaponry being decaptchaloged. A few things happened in rapid succession. Hellve screamed. There was a crash. Someone fired a projectile weapon. Stella shifted rapidly, her thunderous distress-call bringing the drones out of their patient formation. Rolling out of the way of an armored body, Porrim tasted blood in her mouth where a fang nicked her lip. The report of another shot echoed off of the chamber walls and Porrim tried to orient herself in the knot of armed caretakers.  
  
Something touched the Grub wrong and Stella screamed, swiping a leg at the assembled party. Porrim saw the large black claw approaching and realized that there was not a thing that she could do to stop it. One of the guards came careening into her from the force of being hit and the world shuffled rapidly sideways as Porrim in turn was launched over and toward one of the rock formations on the platform. There was a crunch, followed by white, furious pain. Laying prone on the floor, Porrim watched with fixed eyes as the scene unfolded in front of her. Someone had a tranquilizer rifle out. She blinked and time did something strange once more. Several Drones lay on the floor, either unconscious or dead.  
  
Blink.  
  
The light changed as Stella moved.  
  
Blink.  
  
The floor shook. Sparks flew as the tablet shorted out  
  
Blink.  
  
More yelling. Too many people on the platform. It was a small space. A few of them stood in the shallows. That was normally where Porrim liked to stand when she painted Stella’s forelegs. Hellve was looking at her from the platform. Something was strange about his expression, it was fixed and glassy, and his hair was a riotous mess.  
  
Blink.  
  
Cold. Porrim felt very cold. Someone touched her, checking her neck and a few places along her thorax to make sure that she was still alive. Of course she was alive. She was just very cold. Why were they checking that?  
  
Blink.  
  
She was on something flat. Light in her eyes. Too bright. It burned. Turning her face away from the light she whined, trying to get it to stop.  
  
Moving her head was too much. The entire planet seemed to rotate on a new and horrible axis, throwing off her equilibrium. Details of the cave she was being moved through blurred and twisted. The fungi on the ceiling reminded her of the lights from the festival. When she blinked, it was too much effort to open her eyes again.  
  
*  
  
“Honey I know you feel really bad but you have to stay awake.

 

Porrim.

 

Porrim Maryam.”

  
The light was in her eyes again and Porrim growled as fiercely as she could. Swatting ineffectually at her torturers she gagged, turning onto her side and hacking up what remained of dinner. Her head pulsed with pain, no thought made it easily through the haze. Little pinpricks of pain announced shots and other things the doctors did to her. Pursing her lips and turning away from the bit of mess that was in her hair, Porrim could not focus. Something had happened. Something happened to Stella. something happened to Hellve.  
  
“Porrim, honey. I need you to take a deep breath. We’re just going to move you a little okay?”  
  
There was a weird pressure on the inside of her elbow and her arm felt slightly cold. IV. Somewhere in the recesses of her addled mind she remembered the term. She breathed in when they told her to, someone steadied her as they shifted her onto a clean bed. Nausea crested and receded in waves.  
  
After what seemed like a lifetime, it was once again legal to close her eyes. Drifting in and out, Porrim dozed. Frequently what woke her was a nurse, a mild tempered gentleman who would forever be on her shit-list. It was nothing personal, but the pain took away any sense of charity or mercy she had ever possessed. Sopor oozed up around her shoulders and she carefully laid her head back onto the cushions as directed.  
  
The nurse, her new kismesis, leaned down and spoke softly to her while he dimmed the lights to a civilized level. “You are concussed. You hit your head very hard and we are concerned about it. For now you're going to be staying in med bay.”  
  
Slurring, Porrim acknowledged him in the hope that he might leave her alone. “mmmkay.”  
  
The next time she woke it was to sotto-voices hissing angrily at one-another.  
  
“I told you this was what would happen if you let her continue. But you didn't listen to me! You said it was fine and that they wouldn't freak out. Well this qualifies as a freakout! We have our backup breeder dead, our main breeder is going to be out of commission this entire season, and we've got an aggro-queen who is more mobile than she has any right to be. How do I explain any of this?!”  
  
“You can't. Nor should you have to, nor is it your job to. Settle those lovely sacks of yours down to a composed level. The Grubs will do what they will. That is how it always is. What we want is really secondary, isn't it? We are in fact, here for them.” The tone of the second speaker was mockingly deferential. Porrim did not care for it.  
  
“Kergan, I know that you are very much for the hands-off path but we need to do this. She almost killed my student, she's maimed yours – we don't know if the boy will be able to use that arm again. We have to pacify her. I don't like it, but I'm doing it.”  
  
“I'll pull rank on you bitch, if you dare try it. She's the first one that has been really and truly awake and inquisitive in sweeps. There are scores of us trolls. There are only so many of them. She's more important.”  
  
A frosty silence followed. “I'll see you in council.”  
  
Tracking movement out of the corner of her eye, Porrim observed Kergan crossing the distance into the other section of her room. The speech that followed was low and indistinct. Porrim only caught snippets of it. “You did a good job...proud of you...'s okay. You're going to be fine...Porrim's fine. Shooosh sweet. Shoosh. Dream victorious dreams.”  
  
*

  
Time seemed bound and determined to slip out of her fingers and by her without being noticed. Somewhere in between waking up in the med bay and the next time her eyes opened, Porrim changed locations. The texture of the recupe that she was in was different than the one in the med bay. The air smelled different too – a little like fabric and the low-notes of an incense that she was fond of. Porrim was in her space then, rather than the medical wing where she had been previously. Cautious with her head and the quickness of her movements, Porrim scanned the area. Everything remained the way that it was the last time that she had been there. Given everything that had happened, it seemed like a long time ago.  
  
Kergan stood in the doorway, occupying a space that rightfully belonged to Avaret. That was where she always stood when pronouncements for the future needed to be made. Instead the slightly wild-eyed and serious Kergan stood in her place. Porrim detested her for doing so. The painkillers that they had her on were causing her pan to spiral out of control, in fuzzy, strange directions. Speaking took a great amount of concentration but she managed it, voice thick. “Did you need something?”  
  
The caretaker leaned against the wall, medical tape peeking out above the line of her shirt. “I wanted to let you know that Hellve passed. They did what they could, but the injury he sustained was too severe.”  
  
Righting herself and giving Porrim a quiet nod, she spoke while beginning to abscond. “There are bereavement guidelines that allow for you to go out for a while. Go talk to your friends or lovers if you have them. Clear your head. Things can get a little intense and claustrophobic down here. It's the result of what we do to them. Maybe it's a result of all of the delusion. Regardless. Hellve is dead. Deal with it how you must.”  
  
The older jade disappeared down the hall, horns casting long pointed shadows in her wake until they also faded into the ambient shadows. Porrim felt cold and ill. Fumbling at the edge of her recupracoon she found her palmhusk tucked into a cozy she had knitted for it. It made sending sleepy-texts easier. Hitting the Trollian icon, she fumbled at the nearest online cohort. Staring at her cursor, Porrim felt her fingers moving before her pan caught up to them.  
  
\- GlisteningAusterity[GA] has started trolling controversialClaimant[cC] –  
  
GA: My friend died yesterday. I do+n't kno+w what to+ do+ abo+ut that. I didn't get a chance to+ go+  
see him.  
cC: shole up sweetheart. what are you saying? who died?  
GA: My friend. He died. One of the Mo+thers freaked out and killed him.  
  
She slammed her finger onto the enter key, claws scrabbling against the screen-protector, trying to convey the incorrectness of the situation through force. The message remained in its gray field, the cursor blinking at the end. Swatting at 'enter' a couple more times Porrim darted her glance over to the edge of her palmhusk where an informational message had appeared. 'Connection Lost, please try again at another time.'  
  
Hurling her small device at the wall with all of her strength she was gratified by a wet sounding crunch as the screen broke and pierced the battery inside.  
  
Fuck the censors.  
  
Fuck the network admin.  
  
Fuck this place.  
  
There were questions that needed answering and none of the other caretakers would answer them for her. They all had their own agendas and motives. Kergan seemed like she might agree with the violence the grub had dealt out, or else she waited for whatever consequences came as its result. Avaret did not approve of any of it but she refused to raise a finger against it. Porrim was sure that the other trainers were similarly conflicted, leading to a culture of inaction and apathy. Something had to happen. Pulling her cape tight around her shoulders and yanking the hood up over her head – the heavy material scraping her horns, she descended.  
  
*  
  
“Why would you do that to him?!” Porrim's voice rose, echoing harshly off of the walls. Her head pounded in time to her pulse, anger ratcheting the former to jackhammer-pace. “Why?! Stella you have to tell me why! Was he hurting you?”  
  
The grub shifted her large cranial mass to watch her through milky eyes. Whomever had applied the sedation was heavy-handed. She knew that dosage would contribute to a dangerously slow cadence of the Grub's blood-pusher and the sluggishness of her movements. Silence reigned in the cavern over than the occasional uneasy shuffling of an unseen Drone's wings. Stella's voice came slow and thick like syrup that Porrim loved to eat on top of breakfast. ~ Was with them. Had... helped....medication. So much medication. Unnecessary medication. Gonna make me crazy-~  
  
“Stella! NO. No no no. He wasn't doing anything like that.”  
  
The grub shifted, wings straining at the restraints looped over them, forcing them down flush against her back. ~Couldn't tell. Just another one. Always poking, always prodding. Meddlers. You all turn into meddlers.~ The sending was garbled, feelings and shards of imagery competing with each other for relevance.  
  
 _I hate you_. The words froze in her throat, clawing at her protein-chute. _I hate you and I hope that you go insane_. There were a few things that once said not even a starship could take back. The tenuous peace between them was held together with gossamer and pale threads. Deploying language like that would be the set of scissors that severed all ties. Hellve was not the best troll, nor the smartest. Maybe in some sort of horror-world, being average and gentle tempered would be grounds for death. That was not the world that they lived in. Hauling herself out of the liquid bath she crouched on the edge of the platform. “Stella. Stella you killed Hellve. He was my friend and you killed him. He took good care of your sisters.”  
  
~Don't care. Don't care about sisters or friends. Only you and me. Me and you.~  
  
Shucking off her sensible cape Porrim walked away, leaving the wad of cloth slowly darkening in the pool of moisture it absorbed.  
  
*  
  
“I told you that this was going to happen.”  
  
Porrim sat on one of the observation decks, letting the stinging light of dawn brush over her skin. “Go away. I don't want to talk about this right now.”  
  
“It is precisely that reason that we ought to talk about it now.”  
  
“If you touch me get ready to strife. I meant what I said. I want to be alone. My friend is dead and my Grub is mental and nothing is okay.”  
  
Avaret settled at a polite distance at her side, observing the scenery with what Porrim was sure was a practiced stoicism. That only made her angrier. Turning to face her mentor, she growled out the words, trying to banish the nauseated horror churning beneath her ribs. “You knew shit like this happens and you never said anything to me about it!”  
  
Taking the accusation calmly, the older troll shook her head. “That is not actually the case. You and I had this discussion last sweep. You just may have forgotten. That's fine. Regardless, it happens.”  
  
“It happens because you drug them! It happens because we don't let their bodies follow their own rhythms! Stella talked to me about all of this! You let them sit there and poke and prod at them and there's nothing for them to do or see and they just go away. And then when they've gone far enough they never come back! How is this care? How is that even stewardship?!”  
  
“It happens.” Avaret repeated herself firmly, her voice dipped low and serious, green eyes boring into Porrim. “Hellve was in the wrong place at the wrong time. We are going to mourn him. It could have just as easily been you Porrim. I know that you don't want to think about this, but you should be grateful that you are alive and with us.”  
  
The thought had not even crossed her mind. Porrim felt a strange weight add itself to the grief. Relief, and on its heels, guilt. Relief that she was not a splatter of muscle tissue and splintered bones mixed in with the slurry and acting as extra nutrients for the wigglers. Guilt that she was happy Hellve had died in her theoretical stead.  
  
“That's not what I'm talking to you about!” The anger was easier to ride than shame or relief.  
  
Avaret clasped her hands tightly together, nails biting into her own skin. “But that is what is. And that is what you must learn to accept.”  
  
“What if I won't?!”  
  
“Then you need to leave.”  
  
Porrim thought of the sisters marinating in spunk and despair down in the dark. She thought of the one that slowly was finding her words again after sweeps of not saying a thing. Leaving would mean turning her back on them, on what little change she had managed to affect in the time that she had been here. Leaving would be cowardly. “Are you saying that I should run away? Is that even allowed?”  
  
“I'm not saying that you -should- do anything. What I am informing you of is the reality of the situation. If you cannot remain objective and do your job you will have to leave this place. That may mean culling, so I would be careful. At best it means interacting with a memory-adjuster of some sort or another. We don't need you sharing secrets outside of the space.”  
  
Throwing a pebble off of the edge, plucked from the foot of a well-kept statue, Porrim shook her head. Hellve would never get a chance to kiss that groundskeeper.  
  
“I can't stand to look at her any more. And I don't want to be around what you do to her. What comes next? Don't lie.”  
  
Avaret looped her arms tightly around her legs, pointing her toes inward and resting her sharp chin on her knees. “They will pacify her. Probably file down her forelegs and restrict her movements. There was a matriorb in the last clutch-- we plucked it out before she went batshit. As soon as that grub hatches the council will discuss what happens after that.”  
  
“What is the council likely to decide?”  
  
“Some of them will want to kill her. There is a strong faction that will support her right to be as she is, but they will bow to the necessity of having more citizenry and they will confine her. It is likely that the stress of all of this will hasten the mind-death. In a way this is good.”  
  
Rubbing at her temple Porrim hissed low in her throat, unaware of the face she was making at first. “Why are the options so black and white? I don't like her, but I don't want her to have that happen. She's smart and she's healthy. You're killing her!”  
  
“And what do you suggest that we do with her?”  
  
Porrim sat in silence a long time, reaching deep inside of herself for an answer. She found nothing. Knowingly, Avaret squeezed her shoulder, smoothing out her skirts and headed inside.  
 **  
  
III. Remember Her  
  
** Against her better judgment, Porrim stayed. Perhaps it was for Hellve's small remembrance ceremony. Someone qualified needed to speak to his love of fashion, and his eventually-authentic love of folklore. Somewhere in the back of her mind, hidden behind her good sense a morbid curiosity lingered. It seemed outlandish that her lovey group of jades would legitimately saw down the limbs of one of the Mothers. She wanted to see if things would really become as bad as Avaret had predicted.  
  
They really did. Porrim could not stand in front of Stella any longer and begged care-taking duties off on older and wiser members. After the first lie, the rest were easy. She told them that she was scared of Stella, that she still had day-terrors about the day that Hellve died. While she was disturbed by what had been done to her charge; the anger remained under the surface of things, tainting any sympathy into a twisted satisfaction. Feeling that way felt awful, but Porrim could not stop. So instead she stopped seeing Stella. Gradually, the gentle pressure indicating Stella's sendings stopped coming.  
  
A few perigees after the last sending Porrim's resolve broke. Guilt constantly nagged at her for leaving Stella alone, even though she had been left to capable if firm hands. Still, she had left someone that loved her deeply all alone in the dark with no one to talk to. Pulling her cloak out of the back of her sylladex, she donned it slowly, feeling the unpleasant pull of the thick fabric.  
  
*  
  
It was early in the morning, the light filtered down but there were no amber-abstracts to look at. Stella's wings were strapped down flush to her back, her head held still in traction. At first glance she seemed asleep, until Porrim heard the soft monotone buzz. The sound was so subtle that she had not registered it during her descent. The Grub's forelegs had indeed been filed down to rounded nubs and secured against her chest where she could not move them. The back legs were similarly secured. She did not move as Porrim approached, and did not open her eyes as Porrim sat down on the edge of the platform.  
  
She remained there for a long while, drinking in the results of her inaction and inattentiveness. Perhaps, if she had been willing to be around all of this would not be necessary. The buzz droned on in the background, raising the hair on the back of her neck.  
  
~You came to see me. ~  
  
Starting guiltily, Porrim looked upward, hood falling back off of her face and catching on her hooked horn. “Yeah.” The answer was given softly. It seemed presumptuous to think at Stella any longer—far too intimate to be inside of her mind. If Porrim were completely honest with herself it was too painful.  
  
~I waited a long time. But I knew you would come. ~  
  
Porrim's eyes stung. “I was very angry at you. I couldn't come.”  
  
~That is what they said. I understand why. I killed your friend. And you are upset with me. ~ Stella's head sagged slightly, the cords holding her horns snapped taut, supporting her weight. ~ I can't say anything to make it better. Can't say anything to make you feel better. I do have a favor of you though.~  
  
Blinking rapidly and trying to clear the tears out of her eyes, Porrim answered when she had her voice under control. “Yeah?”  
  
~ When you leave, turn the heaters off in my pool.~  
  
The nature of the request caught Porrim's attention as dangerous. However there was no harm in granting the Grub a request. Making her way to the rebuilt terminal that controlled the environment for that section of the cave, Porrim stared at the lights without comprehending their meaning. Previously it was always Hellve doing the adjustments on that end; her sole job was to take care of Stella.  
  
“Stella why?”  
  
~ You can't call me that anymore sweetheart. I am not allowed to have a name. ~ There was such defeat commingled with visions of some of the elder jades, speaking to each other from the platform, ignoring her and all of her beautiful words. She understood what 'depersonalization' was.  
  
“Fuck them. Your name is Stella.”  
  
~I would like my pool turned down because it keeps my heart beating. It keeps my thoughts somewhat lucid when I am warm. I would like to be cool. Cool like the stars or the snow that you told me about on the mountains. Then I would not feel this. I would not feel anything at all. ~  
  
Fat droplets of green moisture splattered over the terminal's liquid-proof coating, blossoming out like small flowers. Porrim balled her hands into desperate fists, looking up at her poor, beautiful friend. “I don't know how to help you! I'm still angry with you, but I miss you and … they've hurt you. They've hurt you and it's my fault.”  
  
Stella hummed. It was the same low, beautiful note she had sung once before, and it pushed out the clamor of shame and guilt and replaced it with resonant sound. ~ You are the only person that has ever loved me. And I love you for it. I forgive you for everything. I hope that some day you may be able to forgive me too.~  
  
~It's time for me to go, though. I can feel my mind running away from me like the carpenters that get lost over the sea. Oh Porrim, the stories they tell us-- where they've been and who they've served. The colors and smells that they have encountered is enough to write a novel out of. I need to go away from this. I cannot die down in the dark with a body full of drugs and needles and people who refuse to acknowledge that I am present.  
  
Turn my body into a ship. If you hate this world, use me as your vessel out of it.  
  
Please do this for me Porrim?~  
  
Pulling the temperature controls down to critical levels Porrim turned off alarms as they popped up. Crossing the distance between them she carefully let the lines free that held the Grub's head up, allowing it to sink down low. Stella carefully tipped her chin up, resting her cheek along the platform. Porrim walked over to her temple, pressing up against her ocular ridge.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
~ I know. ~  
  
Porrim stayed long after she had cooled.  
  
The disciplinary hearing passed by like the unimportant blur that it was.  
  
*  
  
Before Porrim left Kergan was the last one to see her. Standing in the mouth of the cave, she papped Porrim on the cheek. “You sure about this?”  
  
A few more sweeps of dead grubs and 'resource management' had instilled in her a crystal-clear sense of surety. Moving away from Kergan's cold hands, she arched a pierced eyebrow at her. “How can you do it?”  
  
“Because someone has to. Someone has to stand up for them. Someone also needs to leave terminals unsecured so that other persons can murder Grubs.” Smiling a pointed smile, Kergan slipped her hands into her cloak. “I left you enough that you could do something about it-- from the outside. Public opinion does have a rather large sway, you know.”  
  
Porrim rolled her shoulders, flashing a few spirals on her bare skin. For every Mother that died, a new pattern joined her first. Kergan was a member of the securities council – a body that Porrim had been unaware of until they debriefed her prior to her reentry into society. Kergan also was a rather adept memory-adjuster. Looking toward the mouth of the cave, Porrim frowned. “I haven't seen Avaret 'since this evening. She that angry with me for leaving?”  
  
Kergan shook her head. “Not a matter of that at all. She was hoping that she would find a successor in you. I knew better. She's not one much for goodbyes. Instead, know that you'll be missed. And I will be easing up her security clearance so she can send you things on occasion.” Finished speaking, Kergan turned and headed back toward the shade of the cave-mouth. A few paces toward the opening she called over her shoulder. “Don't come back, Porrim. You're trouble. If you must come back? Bring the kind of trouble that can't be ignored.” **  
  
  
*  
  
What does the Mother Grub Mean to You?  
An article by Porrim Maryam  
  
** _When you think of the Mother Grub it is likely that you do so with a casual reverence. Yes, she is the source of us. She in an abstract way embodies the concept of creation and continuation. Some of you may attend the Festival of Lights in her honor, or have some grubcake. Once in a while you may wonder about why things are the way they are, where we all came from._  
 _I want you to stop wondering for a moment and begin listening in earnest._  
  
 _Your Mother needs you._  
  
Tabbing out of the word-processor Porrim laced her hands behind her neck, the swirl decorating her left arm stinging sharply. In a while it would be time to put a bit more moisturizer on it so the ink would not peel. It was the last one that she would wear, the last testament to what she had seen. The rest of it would have to be done with her words and with action. The right words to the right people at the right time would effect change.  
  
Her article was not lying. Their Mothers needed help, and if they as a species were going to survive they needed their Mothers.  
  
Even if it was the first of a million steps, she would take a couple herself. She would write their stories onto her body for the casual passer-by to read. She would lecture anywhere that would let her speak. She would make sure they were spoken for. No one else would.  
  
“When you think of your Mother you might consider the fact that she let you live. Be grateful.”  
  
An excellent lead-in to her topic. She could outline to them why. Certainly there were many that did not know it.  
  
~ Fin. **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> A few things: I took MAD liberties with the Jade culture and hope you like it. I tried to make it a complex question. Population versus individual rights, and the needs of the many over the few and how that balance is maintained. 
> 
> Hellve's name derives from helve-- the handle of a hammer or a tool of service  
> Kergan's name is a shoutout to Kerigan of Starcraft  
> Avaret wanted to be a jewelry maker. This is a fact that did not have a place in the story, but is good trivia. It's one of the reasons she liked Porrim.


End file.
